woke around 9 to feed the kitties and tinkle.
back to sleep. dreamt about sarah jane kidd whom i was great friends with in elementary school and middle school, but she went to a different high school and i haven't seen her in years. bizarre.
got up around 11, tinkled, and fixed breakfast: fried egg (whose yolk broke upon cracking. DOH!) toast, vanilla ceylon tea with agave nectar and almond milk, maple whole milk yogurt and berry granola. pretty brilliant, i'd say.
chatted with ted who'd just been to see his dentist whom he's in love with.
got cleaned up, tinkled a couple more times (which is notable given the hassle it is to tinkle. it's in the hall and it's dirty.)
played online. read this article.
it's wonderfully long and detailed, inspiring and motivational.
talked to mom and pops to request in order to buy art supplies, though it's always nice to talk with them.
left the house around...3? walked up the street to the BART station with bonobo in my head. i thought about assembling a gaggle of dance
rs to take over dance clubs, street corners, parties, what have you, with an awesome jaw-dropping dance that would make people go: whoa. i'd like this song to be 'd song' on bonobo's 'dial 'm' for monkey'. it would be so sweet. before i came to the city, i thought it'd be fun to have a boy crew and a girl crew and to stage 'dance offs' (as though they were impromptu) in dance clubs much to the surprise of the other people there. we'd have to have an 'in' with a d.j. to get them to play our song at the precise moment. i'm working on this dance troupe. we will be awesome.
i sat next to a peacefully sleeping asian girl on the train. the thought occurred to me that if someone were to try to mess with her, i would absolutely defend her.
off the train, down new montgomery street.
on the way, i made two more street friends. as i passed, they handed me a cd. 'wanna listen?' 'sure.' i was handed a black ear-bud. 'let's trade' i said, and handed him my bonobo playing white one. while i was grooving to his hip hop, he was grooving to my down tempo and we bopped a little, wires entangled, in each other's faces, on the sidewalk. it was awesome.
the cd i got was 'unreleased' by Nstinct, bu
t i had to pass on even listening to his cousin: diego trinidad. they have my email, though, so hopefully i'll hear about hip-hoppy things.
to the administration building to get my 'locker rental agreement'. if you'll remember, the sassy security guard gave me a locker AND a lock withOUT having said agreement. students EVERYWHERE. flustered and stressed staff people scattered about.
then off to utrecht for art supplies. it's on the same street as the administration building and was absolutely crawling with (mainly asian) students. it's a small store with narrow aisles and the girl at the front who was charged with collecting backpacks was having a meltdown. 'i need your backpacks guys!' could be heard throughout the store, over the 80's music. i had what can only be described as a 'private shopper' volunteer to walk me around and pick out my supplies. it was beyond helpful. my 'thank you' was empty in comparison the the gratitude i felt for her help. she said she'd be happy when 'back to school' was over. i can only imagine.
i then decided to drag my supplies all the way to my building which was a good 15 minute walk, past countless enormous photos of unrealistically beautiful and happy models enjoying their designer shoes and jewelry.
i made it up to 540 powell as a sweaty, panting mess.
down the hill, i had frozen yogurt (chocolate, vanilla swirl) and it was a.mazing.
then i watched these guys dance, and thought my dance crew should challenge THEM to a dance off, if for not other reason than we'd dance together and it'd be fun.
now i am home, cooling off.
i've been able to read a lot which has been satisfying. in sebastopol i read 'the help'.
i enjoyed it and appreciate its realism. and affectionate portrayal of the characters.
i then read 'the god of small things', which i'm learning more and more is kind of a big deal.
it was SO lush and gorgeously descriptive with unforgettable imagery and emotion. i don't agree with some of her choices at the end, but was tempted to re-read it immediately upon finishing it.
i don't think i will do this. i think i'll let it sit for a second, but i absolutely look forward to reading it again, and getting lost in her language.
it's very much how i'm understanding indian art to be. like the films of tarsem it's vivid and lush and colorful and deep. that description almost trivializes it, but it's the best i can do.
i'm very glad that it's received the acclaim that it has, and angered so many.
that means she did something right.
then i read 'the pharmacist's mate' by amy fusselman. i read that one in one day. i think it was tuesday.
i loved it. it's perfect and honest and i'd like to make my blogs more like it.
(anne, don't buy it, cause my copy is coming to YOU next.)
class starts tomorrow and i'm feeling... pretty great about it. i don't feel intimidated. i feel like i belong there and that i can absolutely succeed. i think i have the ability to do well.
i feel like even though i didn't have to technically 'apply' and be 'accepted', i've earned this and i intend to deserve the opportunity.
i'm just excited to get started. excited to start DOING and start making crazy art school friends. MORE crazy art school friends, that is.
my home life has been dominant in my city experience, so far. i AM kind of a home body. ok, REALLY a home body, but i've also been avoiding spending money. i'm really appreciative of the comfort i've been able to find here. aside from the bathroom, which isn't TERRIBLE but not ideal either, it's been quite nice. abigail is back in maine for an indeterminate amount of time, so it's just been ted and i. we're able to talk comfortably, share meals and go on little errands and it's so nice not to have tension or discomfort surrounding my home. i quite like it.
here's mingus napping with me yesterday:
tomorrow-clothed figure drawing in that room with the lovely high ceiling. the beautiful room is a good start.
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